I thought my father’s funeral would be a sad but meaningful day. It was supposed to be a time to remember the man who had always been the rock of our family. What I never expected was for my stepmother, Vivian, to turn it into a show for herself. Little did I know that a letter from my father would reveal secrets that would leave her and her children embarrassed in front of everyone.
The day of the funeral was one of the toughest days of my life. Even though we had known this day would come—he had been sick for a long time—nothing could prepare me for the deep sadness I felt. I held back tears as I got ready to say goodbye to the man who had always been my support.
And then Vivian arrived.
As I stood in the church, I saw my stepmother walk in, her head held high, with her four adult children following her like they were on a red carpet. They weren’t dressed in black like everyone else.
No, they were all in bright white outfits that looked more suited for a party on a yacht than a funeral. The sharp contrast between their white clothes and our dark attire was shocking. People turned to stare, and whispers filled the air.
My stomach twisted with anger and disbelief. This was my father’s funeral, and she had made it a spectacle. I pushed through the crowd, my grief turning into rage, and confronted her. “Vivian,” I said sharply, my voice low but filled with fury. “What are you doing? Why are you and your kids dressed like this?”
She didn’t flinch at all. Instead, she smiled a lazy, condescending grin that made my blood boil. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said with a smirk, “don’t make a scene. This is what your father wanted.”
I stared at her, stunned. “Dad wanted this?” I gestured wildly at her flowing white dress and the matching outfits of her children. “There’s no way he—”
She cut me off, pulling a neatly folded envelope from her designer bag. “He wrote me a letter,” she said, waving it in front of me. “He specifically asked us to wear white. It was his last wish.”
The audacity of her claim left me speechless for a moment. I shook my head in disbelief. “No. There’s no way my dad would—”
“Believe what you want,” she interrupted, slipping the letter back into her bag. “We’re honoring his wishes, and that’s all there is to it.” Without waiting for my response, she turned on her heel and led her children to the front row, where they seated themselves like royalty.
As the ceremony began, I could see Vivian’s family soaking up the attention, their bright outfits glowing against the sea of black mourning attire. I tried to focus on the eulogies and hymns, but my frustration with their arrogance kept bubbling to the surface.
Then, my father’s best friend, Joe, stepped forward to speak. He looked serious as he held up a letter. “Vivian,” he said, his voice steady, “please stand.”
Vivian rose, her chin lifted confidently, as if she were about to receive praise. Her children stood beside her, wearing smug expressions. Joe took a deep breath and began to read from the letter.
“To my dearest friends and family,” he started, his voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you for coming to honor my memory. There is something I must address, something that has weighed heavily on me.”
The room fell silent. I glanced at Vivian, and I could see her confident smile begin to fade.
“My ex-wife, Martha, was the one who stood by me during my illness,” Joe read. “She was there when I needed her the most, while Vivian and her children were conspicuously absent—unless they needed something from me.”
A gasp ran through the crowd. Vivian’s smile vanished, and her face turned pale.
Joe continued, his voice unwavering. “I also discovered, with the help of my financial adviser, that significant amounts of money had been siphoned from my accounts. The culprit was Vivian, aided by her children.”
Gasps filled the room as people exchanged shocked glances. Vivian’s children, who had been standing proudly, shrank back, their faces now white with fear.
Vivian tried to shout over Joe, her voice trembling with desperation. “This is a lie! A complete fabrication! You can’t believe this!”
But Joe ignored her, pressing on. “I knew they would come to my funeral, expecting to play the role of the grieving family. So, I asked them to wear white. I wanted them to stand out, so everyone could see them for who they truly are.”
His words hit like a hammer. Vivian’s composure shattered. “You bastard!” she hissed, her voice shaking with rage. “You think you
